The following is an excerpt from Live in the Q – The Axiom for Work and Life, helping us understand in a more imaginative, yet visual way that how we see others is a manifestation of who we are. More simply, we are as we see others.
Taz woke up late, and that was the last thing he needed today! “Why didn’t my alarm go off?” he thought to himself. “Was someone playing with my phone?”
Taz was out of bed in a blink, tripping over toys and clothes on the floor and frantically looking in his closet for something clean to wear. It’s a good thing his hair was short because there was no time for a shower now!
Down the stairs and into the kitchen he blew like a whirlwind, to find his wife at the sink looking out the window. “Oh! There you are. Can I have your smoothie this morning–right here on the counter? I’m so late!”
As Taz is looked for his keys–while stuffing his bag and waiting for his wife, Violet, to answer–he thought about their argument the night before. It’ had been the same thing for who knows how long between them, why couldn’t she figure it out!?
“Violet–I’m taking your smoothie because I’m LATE. Can you make another?” he said abruptly and louder, assuming his wife hadn’t heard the first time. There was no response. “Violet!” he yelled, before going over to where she was, to really get her attention.
As he touched her shoulder, he went from grumpy to horrified when her body twisted around to face him slightly and then fell backward toward the counter, sliding away to where a pulled-out drawer stopped her fall. She was looking blankly off to the distance and very thin. She was a cardboard cutout!
After a scream that the kids at the bus stop could hear, he stumbled back and rubbed his eyes. “I must be dreaming! I’m not awake!”
But he was awake.
“But I AM awake!” he said out loud, while pinching himself and slapping his face. “I’ll figure this out as soon as I can, I promise!”
In a flash, Taz was out the door, tripping over cardboard while doing so. Pulling out of the driveway, he wondered where the twins had been this morning. He always heard them. They had to have been up.
“Out of the street!” he yelled at his windshield, swerving to miss a group of middle-schoolers waiting for the bus. “Those dang kids never learn!” But this time as he swerved, he blew several of them down. He crashed into a garbage can while staring out the rearview. “This can’t be possible!” Cardboard cutouts, every one.
The construction crew, the crossing guard, the other drivers in front and behind, even all the students outside the school he was about to enter–flat, corrugated.
[To be continued…]